Happily Ever After
by carpetinflight
Summary: Harry knew what a hero should be. If that's what Ginny wanted from him, she was out of luck. Written pre HBP.


For nearly fourteen years, the small bedroom next to Molly and Arthur's stayed virtually the same. The blue carpeting had become faded and worn, and the mobile of quidditch balls that hung over the crib had lost some of its energy, but the nursery retained much the same charm it had had when the young couple brought their first son home. Molly stood in the center of the room, leaning heavily on the battered changing table with one hand, and cradling her swollen belly with the other. It was time for a change.

She smiled to herself as she began to plan, periodically waving her wand to create an elaborate picture of the room she was imagining. The heavy blue drapes designed to block out the sun during naptime vanished, and in their place appeared fluffy white curtains. The quidditch mobile disappeared, and with it went the ragged carpet and the toy broomstick in the corner. The battered wood of the crib was instantly covered with a gleaming coat of white. Pale yellow covered the walls, and butterflies frolicked in the corners.

Molly frowned at the scene, waved her wand, and the butterflies became tiny fairies, surrounded by blossoming flowers. She smiled at the room and turned to look at the wall behind her. An enormous orange banner that now looked very out of place hung from a wooden rod. With a flick of her wand, the tapestry changed to depict a large castle … in a green field … with banners flying from the turrets … a white horse cantering toward the castle from the forest beyond.

Molly was interrupted by a sleepy noise coming from the crib. As her attention moved to her youngest child, the elaborate images Molly had created faded away. Gleaming pastel and white was replaced once more by faded blue and shocking orange, and castles and fairies were replaced by quidditch.

She leaned over the edge of the crib and tickled her baby's stomach gently. His round face crinkled, and his little feet kicked as he giggled and squirmed under her touch. Molly smiled gently as she recognized the eyes of her father underneath Arthur's gingery hair. She loved all her sons, and was immensely proud of each of them. Bill, already a prefect and with such good grades, and Charlie, seeker in only his third year... Sometimes she felt as if her heart would break from knowing what wonderful boys she had. Still, she often felt as though something were missing. Well, things would be different this time, she knew. Just yesterday, the mediwitch told them that the baby due in less than two months would be a girl.

Molly pictured once again the room she had imagined. It would be the perfect little girl's room, for her perfect little girl.

Her little princess.

----------

Harry knew what a hero should be. His aunt Petunia had never sat by his bedside and read him fairy tales as he drifted off to sleep. If his mum had, he didn't remember it. Hermione had once lectured him on the literary tradition of the warrior hero, and for Christmas that year, he had received two books of fairy tales from her, one Wizard and one Muggle.

He had blushed, and laughed, and then read them from cover to cover behind the velvet hangings of his four-poster bed by wandlight.

He read about Sleeping Beauty and Snow White, revived from endless magical sleep by the kiss of true love. In his mind's eye, Sleeping Beauty had red hair, and she lay on the floor of a stone cavern. He started to understand, maybe, what Ginny saw in him.

At the end, the princess rode off with the hero on his horse, and they lived happily ever after. Harry felt sick.

He might have brandished his sword and killed the monster and defeated the bad guy, but in his life there was no "happily ever after." There was no "happily" anywhere, and he still wasn't sure there would ever be an "ever after." Not for him, anyway.

If that's what Ginny wanted from him, she was out of luck.

----------

Harry looked back out the window as the compartment door shut behind Ron and Hermione. He knew that Dumbledore was right, he had more important things to worry about than school Prefect's duties, but it still stung when his friends went off without him.

The train slowly picked up speed and he watched the gray skies and buildings of London flashed by. Voldemort's forces were marshalling just over the horizon, planning horrible things, and the city was full of people walking around without a clue, existing in blissful ignorance. Once upon a time, he too had been unaware, but now he felt as though he bore personal responsibility for those who were unconscious of the danger. The weight lay heavy on him. He had been through every possible emotion over the summer, and he knew that there was only one thing for him to do. He picked up _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ from the seat next to him and opened it to Chapter Seventeen: Dueling. He had already read this book, of course. It had been the textbook for his fourth-year Defense class. Brushing up on a few basics couldn't hurt, though- one can never be too prepared, he told himself.

"A bit of light reading?" Ginny's tone was teasing, but her voice conveyed concern. She sat with her back against the side wall of the compartment and her long legs stretching out in front of her along the bench seat.

"I could say the same to you," Harry replied, indicating the book open on her lap. He couldn't see the title, but the violent green binding meant it could only be Ron's old O.W.L. preparation book.

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled. "I have something more fun in here…" Without moving her legs, she leaned her torso to the side and began rummaging through the knapsack on the floor, poised precariously on the edge of the seat. "Here they--" She pulled a handful of newspapers out of the bag with a triumphant flourish. The sudden movement upset her delicate balance and the publications flew out of her grasp as she grabbed frantically for something, anything to hold on to. The compartment was filled with flying parchment as the pages came apart in the air and hovered for a moment. Gravity being stronger than her fingernails, Ginny tumbled gracelessly to the floor, landing in a pile of freckles and red hair and gray felt uniform.

The cloud of newspaper slowly wafted down to cover the entire area, coating Harry, the bench seats, the stacked luggage and the floor. One sheet landed directly on top of Crookshanks, who was sleeping curled on the bench seat near Harry. Without opening his eyes, a swift flick of his tail sent the page drifting lazily toward Ginny, swaying back and forth across the compartment and eventually landing on the top of her head where it perched, frozen. She did not move.

Harry fought to keep from laughing as Ginny remained motionless on the floor. After a full minute, he saw her shoulders start to shake. He leaned forward, gingerly lifted one corner of the newspaper from her head and he peered underneath.

Her entire face crinkled with laughter, her shoulders shook, and tears rolled down her cheeks. As he watched, she lifted one hand slowly, as if it was very difficult for her to do so, and pressed it to her chest, just below the indentation of her collarbone.

"Can't-- breathe…"

He didn't mean to laugh at her. He usually tried not to, a habit formed when his every action affected her deeply. This time, though, he couldn't help it. A small chuckle escaped his lips, and soon he was laughing hard enough that he was forced to sit down facing her on the floor. Clutching his sides, he tried to calm himself, but every time he saw the newspapers everywhere he only started laughing again. Finally, he regained control enough to quell the laughter. He looked over at Ginny, saw her rust-colored hair spread haphazardly on her sweater, the tears shining on her cheeks, and her brown eyes glittering with amusement. His eyes caught hers, held for a moment, and it was as though the humor of the situation traveled directly from her into him, and he was laughing again.

They sat there on the floor of the compartment and laughed until their sides ached, their lungs emptied, and their cheeks were sore. Harry could not remember a time when he had laughed so hard. Afterward, they remained there on the floor in companionable silence. Ginny wound a lock of hair around her finger absently and watched Crookshanks clean his face. Harry leaned his head back on the seat behind him and closed his eyes, listening to the muted rumble of the train and relishing the calm, peaceful feeling suffusing his muscles.

He was almost asleep when he heard a sound and opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the small window. With his head tipped back, his vision was filled with the sight of Ginny standing in front of him, her arm extended. He lifted his head and tried to make sense of this for a moment, his focus drifting almost involuntarily between the small freckled hand and the worn hem of her pleated uniform skirt, now directly at his eye level. He grabbed her hand and stood, chuckling a little as he saw the newspapers still covering the compartment.

"What is all this, anyway?"

She grabbed a page off the bench seat seemingly at random and read, "'World's largest baby born in Finland', see?" She held up the page so he could see the picture.

"Looks like my cousin." He sat down in the spot next to the window he had vacated earlier and began casually scanning the pages nearest him. "Where'd you get these?"

"Hermione gave them to me. I thought they'd be a laugh for the train ride." She kept her eyes firmly on the page in front of her, but once again he thought he detected a trace of concern behind her laughing words.

"In more ways than one," he teased.

Her cheeks reddened, but instead of being embarrassed, she looked him in the eye and grinned unrepentantly. "It worked, though, didn't it?"

----------

The tapestry had hung on her wall for twelve years. She had outgrown the crib, and the changing table, and the other accoutrements of young childhood. Her mother's pride and joy, the lacy white canopy over the bed, had been taken down last week. The tapestry was now the last of the old decorations to go.

The knight cantered up to the castle and called out to the red-haired maiden in the tower. Brandishing his sword, he disappeared into the keep. Soon, he was visible through the small window in the tower, kissing the maiden. They escaped from the castle and rode off into the forest together on his white horse.

Ginny had watched this scene countless times over the years. She would imagine that she, in her small room on the third floor of the Burrow, was that red-haired maiden. She had watched out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a knight on a white horse, coming to carry her away. He would be handsome and brave, kind and gentle, dashing and sophisticated, intelligent, manly, rich, and utterly devoted to her.

The thought of herself sitting and staring out the window less than a year before, looking for such a savior, filled her with rage. She had waited for a knight on a white horse, and she had gotten Tom. Tom, with his neat handwriting and his understanding words. Tom, who had encouraged her in her ridiculous fantasy. He had been the answer to her prayers: the knight, the prince, the savior.

Without him, she would never have needed saving in the first place.

----------

Harry was on his way down to the kitchens for a snack, when Ginny turned the corner in front of him with an unmistakable spring in her step and a very satisfied smile on her lips. When she noticed him in the darkened corridor, her face lit up.

"Harry!" She waved a roll of parchment as she spoke. "Congratulate me!"

"Congratulations. What happened?"

She unrolled the top of the parchment to reveal her mark, written at the top in Professor Snape's spiky black ink: 104. Harry gaped.

"But—"

"I know!"

"But—"

"One oh four, Harry!"

"But Snape doesn't give over ninety. Ever."

"I know!" And then she must have been struck temporarily insane with the sheer joy of her accomplishment, because she threw her arms around him and wrapped him in a warm, exuberant, excited hug. Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest, her arms embraced him with surprising strength, and the smell of her hair was like an orchard in spring. Before he even had a chance to think about what he was doing, he lifted her off her feet and swung her around and around in one quick motion. He was rewarded with a rich, beautiful laugh so close to his ear that he felt it was just his, made for him and him alone.

He set her down, and abruptly she had vanished, saying something over her shoulder about lording it over Colin. She was gone, but the scent of her remained in his robes, and the sound of her laughter lingered in the hallway. The effects of her body against his, the feel of her arms around him, and the tingle of her breath on his neck stayed with him for long after that brief moment was over.

----------

He had a nice, clear, well thought-out plan. He had a whole speech prepared in which he laid out all the reasons he wanted to spend more time with her. Then he would give her a soft kiss on the lips, to show that he respected her and cared for her, but which would leave no doubt as to his intentions.

He wondered vaguely if he should ask Ron for his blessing or something, but dismissed it immediately. It probably wouldn't go over well with her, and besides, he just didn't want to discuss this with his best friend.

The portrait opened, and he looked up eagerly, only to see some chattering second-years.

When she finally walked into the room, he had a sudden desire to get up and run away.

Unfortunately, that was impossible at this point. There was only one thing to do.

"Gin?"

She didn't answer him, but she raised one eyebrow and walked over to where he was sitting.

"What are you doing this weekend?"

"Going to Hogsmeade, isn't everyone?"

"Er, yeah, I guess, I mean—"

"How 'bout you? What are you guys up to?"

"Hogsmeade. If you want, we could go together."

"Sure, yeah, that sounds like fun." She smiled happily and it wasn't until later that he realized he had never really explained that this was meant to be a date. Well, Ginny was a smart girl. She would figure it out.

----------

"If you weren't a Gryffindor, what would you be?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if not Gryffindor, what house would you be in?"

"But I am in Gryffindor."

"But--"

"Oh, I know what you mean. Honestly, I'm not stupid. But, well, there's no other choice. It is what I am."

"Well, what if there were only three houses? Don't look so shocked!"

"My granda has a cousin who was in Hufflepuff, I think. Nobody really talks about that, though."

"Do you mean…"

"You know we're famous for big families, always have been. Well, we've all been in Gryffindor. Every one."

"When Ron was sorted-"

"I know, I know. 'Another Weasley?'"

"So what would you have done?"

"Cried, probably."

"C'mon, Ravenclaw's not bad. Even Hufflepuff's okay."

"You really don't get it, do you?"

----------

Ginny ran a brush through her hair and grabbed her cloak before bounding down the stairs to the common room. Hogsmeade weekends were always fun, and she had a lot of shopping to do.

Harry was waiting next to the fire, worrying the cuff of his jumper in a sort of nervous way. She wondered what could possibly be nerve-wracking about yet another trip to Zonko's.

His eyes seemed to light up when he saw her coming toward him, and his grin brought back embarrassing memories of the crush she'd held onto for so long.

"Where're the others?" she asked. It wasn't like Hermione to be late, and Ginny had been looking forward to a trip to the bookstore with her.

"Huh?"

"Ron and Hermione. Where are they?"

"They have that Prefects' thing." She thought he looked confused even after he answered her question, and she wondered why.

"I guess it's just you and me then."

He needed to stop by the apothecary and refresh his Potions stores, but it was warm here with the fire and the butterbeer, and Ginny sitting across from him. Schoolwork could wait. It would have to.

Harry looked up at the clock in surprise. They had been sitting at a corner table in The Three Broomsticks for more than three hours now, talking and laughing like old friends. The thought felt strange to him, although he didn't know why it should. It was what they were, after all.

He still wasn't sure whether this was a date. Probably that speech and the kiss he'd planned would have worked better. A kiss did sound awfully appealing right about now. Her small hand lay on the table next to her empty mug of butterbeer. He could reach out and put his hand on hers, and lean forward a little—

"Oh, gosh, look at the time!" It took him a second to shift his focus from her lips to her words. "Harry, why didn't you tell me! I was meant to meet Luna a half hour ago!" She was already reaching for her cloak and standing up.

They left the pub and walked briskly back to the castle, Ginny worrying out loud the whole way. As she walked, her hand brushed the side of his cloak. He watched it out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh, Luna's going--" _swish_ "—to be so—" _swish_ "—mad at me—" _swish_ "—we have that—" _swish_ "—big exam—"

Harry reached out and caught her hand in his. "It'll be okay, I'm sure." He patted her knuckles in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "She probably hasn't even noticed you're missing yet." He held on for just a little longer than he really needed to, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin against his.

She gave him a quick squeeze in response, and then they were at the foot of the castle steps and she was rushing off to the library and he had missed another opportunity for that kiss.

----------

Ginny Weasley was a princess. She knew because Bill said so. He was home now, because he didn't have a job. Her mum and dad were not happy about that, but she was thrilled. He tucked her up in bed at night, and told her stories about ogres and knights and dragons and princesses. In the stories, the princess always had red hair, and she always lived happily ever after. He bought her ice cream, and took her to a magical menagerie, and even to one of Charlie's matches, which was Our Little Secret, because she wasn't old enough to go, Mum said. Bill winked, and wrapped her up in his old scarf, and taught her to cheer "Go Go Gryffindor!" When Charlie caught the snitch, he grabbed her out of the stands and flew her around the pitch in a victory lap. Charlie's strong arm in the red robe and intricate wrist guard held her tight, and she knew he wouldn't let her fall. He gave her the snitch and whispered in her ear, "You're my good luck charm, Princess." It was the first time she had flown. People cheered, the wind rushed in her face, and her hair flew out behind her, mingling with the red and gold of the long scarf.

----------

She had only the most general idea of how it happened.

First, she was standing between the high, musty shelves of the library, looking for _Magical Properties of the Flora of the American Southwest_ when she felt body heat coming from somewhere behind her. Assuming that someone needed to get down the aisle, she murmured "sorry," and took a small step forward to let them by.

Second, he said something. She couldn't remember later what it was, and she had probably never known. He stepped closer to her, effectively trapping her between his body and the shelf, and the surge of heat through her body rendered his words completely irrelevant. His voice was lower than usual, and she turned her head slightly to make sure it was really him.

Then his lips were against hers, and there were tongues and hands and arms involved, and she was pressing up against the shelf and nearly losing the ability to breathe, and he had glasses and calluses, and this was probably not a good idea but with his body against hers like that and whatever he was doing to her breast, she really could not bring herself to care.

He stepped back and stood there between the shelves looking at her. Even once she had regained possession of her own mouth, she could not say anything. She ran her tongue over itself, considering the sensation of his lips, his taste, his kiss.

She looked at him in puzzlement for a moment. "What was that?"

Visibly shocked, he took a moment to compose himself. "That was a kiss, Gin."

"You don't say." She put her hand up to her lips, as if to check that she wasn't having some bizarre dream. No, this was real. This had definitely just happened. Something was wrong about this. Something did not add up. "So it was a kiss. But why?"

He was apparently unable to answer her.

"C'mon- what the hell was that for?" Then, before he could respond, she continued. "You ignore me for years, you treat me like a child, and then you think I'll just be waiting around when it's convenient for you?" Information was swiftly rearranging itself in her head, conforming to this new development. "I thought we were friends, Harry! I-- you are unbelievable."

He may have said something to her as he walked away, but she had only the most general idea of what it was.

----------

When he was in grade school, he liked to watch his classmates play tag. He could never play, of course, because Dudley would threaten anyone who was nice to him. But he could watch. He had a special tree he would climb, where he wasn't too noticeable, and he would look out over the playing field and watch the other children run and dodge and laugh.

They played other games too, hopscotch and football and cops-and-robbers, but tag was Harry's favorite to watch. Everyone was flushed and happy, running and hair flying. No one was left out of a game of tag. Even the people who didn't get tagged were involved, and still had to run and try to get away.

Harry thought he would be good at tag. He was small and fast-- he could always outrun Dudley and his gang. Eventually, Dudley would go off to a different school. Maybe the other kids would let him play then.

One day, Dudley saw Harry in his tree, and that was the end of that.

----------

Sure, she had once had a crush on him. A silly, celebrity crush when she was eleven. Then he saved her life from the Dark Lord, and she'd been understandably grateful. A girl does not forget a thing like that easily.

She had admired his dark hair, his bravery, his green eyes, his loyalty and kindness, his ability on the quidditch pitch. Her crush had been absurd, though. She knew that now, and when she was honest with herself, she would admit that she had known it at the time, too. He was her brother's friend, not hers. They hardly knew each other. She had kept up the crush for years-- years!-- with no encouragement at all.

But she was past all that now. She was over him. And she wasn't going back to it, ever.

Of course, he still had those beautiful green eyes, and that tousled black hair. He still flew with the grace and power she had admired in her first year, but now she knew why it was so appealing. They were friends now, real friends who laughed and talked together. They had fought the Dark Lord together, she and Harry and Ron and Hermione and Neville and Luna. Stood and fought and lived to tell. And he had held her hand and kissed her hard, right there in the library where anyone could see. But really, none of that was important. She was over her ridiculous crush.

----------

In the Charms corridor, behind the tapestry of Belladonna the Bemused, was a small staircase that led to the Hufflepuff common room on alternate Tuesdays. Harry sat there on the cold stone with his head in his hands.

He was not good at this sort of thing. Ron or Hermione-- but this was not the sort of thing that he wanted to share. He could, he _would_ figure this out on his own. Things had been going so well. Hadn't they? What had gone wrong?

He sat and retraced their steps. He thought of all the things that had happened. It was a complete mystery to him. What he had seen and what Ginny had said were two entirely different things.

The more he thought, the more he could come to only one, inescapable conclusion. There was no point at which things had gone wrong. Things had never been _right_.

He hated to be thought of as a hero, disliked the attention and the expectation that he could, would, should fix any problem. But right about now, he wouldn't have minded playing the hero. At the end of all those stories, he got the girl, and rode off into the sunset. She didn't reject him or misinterpret or suspect his motives. That would be nice.

----------

The cool air rushed in her face as she flew. It stung her eyes and tangled her hair, but she welcomed it. It had been difficult to practice alone, at first, but now she used the forest as her obstacle course. Sometimes she flew with a bludger enchanted to follow her, passing the quaffle to herself between the trees, diving and weaving and catching all at once. Today, though, she just flew.

Down, between the trees, through the dappled, leafy shade, the light playing across the ground like the freckles on her arms. Right, left, left again, faster now, below one branch and above another, swerve, duck, dodge. Her teammates had been amazed at how quickly she'd picked up the skills necessary to be a good chaser. They said she was fearless. She just laughed. A broken nose did not worry her; she had known real fear.

Up above the trees, she saw a thestral in the distance, flapping its skeletal wings slowly. She banked and turned quickly back toward the pitch. Drawing closer, she could see that Harry was already there. At first, she thought he was flying laps, but she caught a flash of gold and knew that he was chasing the snitch.

She was tempted, briefly, to change her course and avoid him.

"Come on, Gin, what are you worried about? It's just Harry," she said out loud, trying to convince herself.

As she approached, he put on a burst of speed, reached out in front of him, and then pumped his fist in triumph. He landed gracefully on the ground just as she reached the stadium.

"Nice catch," she said as she landed.

"Thanks," he replied, looking up at her in surprise. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his hair hung in damp tendrils over his ears. His eyes were wide and brilliantly green behind his glasses. For a moment, it felt as if those eyes were two shining magnets, pulling her in, and she was swept with the impulse to lean in and kiss the moisture off his upper lip. She shook her head to clear it of those ideas, reminding herself sternly that that silly crush was a thing of the past.

"Heading in?"

"Er, yeah." She shouldered her broom and they walked back toward the castle. He walked a comfortable distance from her, like a friend. Not like someone who would reach out and grab your hand, hold it and squeeze it to let you know that everything was all right. She'd been flying her makeshift obstacle course for an hour. Her face was flushed and her clothes were damp with sweat, but with Harry's distance and impersonal chatter, she felt cold.

----------

Ginny lay on her stomach across the common room sofa. She wore a pair of old gray uniform pants that must have belonged to one of her brothers and a white button-down shirt rolled up at the cuffs. Her hair was thrown up in a messy bun, held in place with an old quill. Brick-red wisps hung down around her face, and every once in a while she would push them behind her ear with an impatient gesture. Harry threw himself on the floor and leaned up against the armchair where Hermione was seated and tried to relax.

"Aargh!"

Harry peered through his eyelashes to see what had provoked that sound of frustration. Ginny had thrown her scroll of parchment on the floor and hidden her head in her arms. He could see that of the few words written on the scroll, many were crossed out.

She was muttering incomprehensibly into the couch cushions.

"What was that?"

She raised her head and said clearly to nobody in particular, "She's torturing us. They're all torturing us."

"Who?"

"The professors! I'll never finish this work! I have piles and piles, and now McGonagall wants an extra essay on vanishing vertebrates."

Hermione sniffed into her advanced potions book, and Harry knew she would be no help.

"I had to write that last year," he said, moving across the floor to sit closer to where she lay on the sofa. "I bet I remember where to find the stuff you need."

He grabbed her Transfiguration textbook off the floor and began paging through it, and felt her shift behind him to peer over his shoulder.

"Here we go-- this is what I was looking for-- 'Vanishment Spell Variations for Vertebrates and Invertebrates.' Just put some of this in your essay and…" Harry pointed toward the heading he was reading and turned his head to make sure Ginny saw the passage he was indicating, and suddenly their faces were only inches apart.

He felt drawn to her, just as he had on the quidditch pitch. She was so close, and it was as though a special gravitational field existed between the two of them, pulling them toward each other. With a supreme effort, he forced himself to remember her reaction in the library, and turned his head resolutely back toward the book in front of him.

"So, er, like I was saying…" he babbled, trying to remember what he had been telling her. "Just try reading this part again."

She leaned forward and turned the page of the book in his lap. Her body heat soaked through his skin, and he moved back against the sofa without thinking, wanting to be closer to that warmth. She rested on his shoulder and read out loud to herself, occasionally pausing to take notes on a scrap of parchment.

Harry tipped his head back against the arm of the sofa and enjoyed the moment, letting the pressures of the day roll off him. Ginny's hair tickled his neck and her voice whispered softly in his ear. She was talking about wand movements and spinal columns, rats and snails and crows, but his brain barely registered that. All he knew was that this was what he wanted, more than anything. He wanted to be able to sit with her at the end of the day, to talk and laugh with her, to feel her arms around him. He wanted to forget everything and be just Harry again. It might not be possible, but for the moment at least, his life was perfect.

When Ginny wrapped her arm around his chest and laid her head on his shoulder, it felt perfectly natural.

----------

When Harry was eleven, he moved from a cupboard under stairs to a tower in a castle. It was so fantastical, it would have been completely unbelievable had he been anyone else. Harry, however, never knew the difference between real and pretend. Everything in his world, the world of the Dursleys, was real. Real exhaustion from real work he did for his Aunt Petunia, real beatings received from his cousin, real taunts from his schoolmates which had stopped hurting because he had no pride to damage anymore, and real isolation which would seemingly never stop hurting.

After a year full of magical illusions, ghosts and animagi, enchanted mirrors and ceilings, paintings that talked and plants that killed, centaurs and unicorns and three-headed dogs, Harry had a much better grasp on reality. Oddly enough, it didn't occur to him to doubt the validity of the world he'd been thrown into until that summer. Hogwarts had been so vivid, so intense, that when he was there it seemed more real than his previous life. Once he was back in Little Whinging, cut off from his friends, it took on a dreamlike quality.

Four years later, he knew that the wonderful, flawless realm he'd experienced his first year was too good to be true. His world had expanded over time to include new things: werewolves and basilisks, thestrals and portkeys. With them came a whole new vocabulary: "_Crucio_," "Death Eater," "Mudblood." It was not that reality had shifted. He had simply opened his eyes and become aware.

The wizarding world had been the answer to his every hidden wish. He should have been more specific.

----------

Ginny stood at the common room window, watching the snow gleam in the moonlight. Cold seeped in through the panes, but she didn't really mind. She lifted her hand to the glass, tracing the abstract swirls patterned by some centuries-ago glasswright.

She felt someone walk up behind her, felt the warmth emanating from him just as she had in the library. He slid his arms around her waist and for a moment, she stiffened. She wanted to stop him, to force him to explain himself, to insist on a rational discussion. He wrapped her in his arms and rested his jaw against her temple, and she relaxed against him. There were more important things than discussion.

"This feels good, doesn't it?"

"Mmmm."

She looked at their reflection in the window. He was only a few inches taller than she, so that they fit together perfectly. Her smooth red hair and pale freckled skin provided the perfect contrast to his tanned face and rumpled mane. As she watched, he ducked his head and planted a soft kiss at the base of her neck. Ginny shivered in delight and felt the hairs on her arms stand up in unison.

He grinned at her reaction and spoke quietly into her ear, "Are we going to do this, then?"

She took a deep breath before answering. "I don't know. I--" She looked resolutely out the window and not at his face. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why me? I mean, you're famous Harry Potter. You could probably date any girl you wanted."

"I don't want just any girl. I want you." Her heart swelled at this statement. "C'mon, Gin," --he kissed the base of her neck again-- "what do you want?"

"I didn't plan for this to happen, you know." He chuckled, and his warm breath tickled her skin. "But, now that we're here... I think I want-- this." As she said it, she knew it to be true.

----------

Before he was even sure he was awake, he was standing next to the bed with his glasses in one hand and his wand in the other. He ran toward the screams, past the giant orange blur that was Ron's bed and down the dark brown blur that was the stairwell, jamming on his glasses as he went. When he reached her door, he did not pause, did not consider the niceties of social propriety. He barged in and stopped abruptly.

From the noise, he'd expected there to be horrible things happening, but the only person in the room was Ginny, who was fast asleep. Her hands clenched fistfuls of blanket, and her head was moving rapidly from side to side.

Harry had no idea what to do. He'd had plenty of nightmares himself, of course, but he'd never had to awaken someone else from one.

Crossing softly to the bed, he called out her name. "Ginny? Gin. Ginny, come on, wake up." He put his hand on her arm, and when she didn't wake, he tried shaking her gently.

She sat up with a jolt. "Get away from me!"

He did not move away, but stayed next to the bed, resting his hand on her upper arm and rubbing lightly.

She looked at him for a moment, blinking in confusion. When she spoke, her voice cracked with sleep. "Harry?"

"Hey. Are you okay?"

"I will be. Just-- sit with me awhile, okay?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a bit awkward. They hadn't spent enough time in a bed together for him to feel comfortable with it yet. He had expected her to want to talk, but she was silent. He looked down at the blue bedspread, studying the texture intently. He had come rushing in here, thinking something terrible was going on. Now that she was awake and not in danger, he wondered how long he would have to sit here before she fell asleep and he could go away.

Ginny let out a tiny sniffle. Harry turned to look at her, surprised to see tears sliding down her face and marking the pillow.

What was he supposed to say? He knew what horrible things inspired her dreams, and he couldn't just lie and say that everything would be okay.

"Hey. Don't cry." It wasn't good, but it was better than nothing, he supposed.

"I'm not," she answered stubbornly, even though all evidence pointed otherwise.

He moved carefully to lie next to her, not entirely sure that this was something he could get away with. Wrapping his right arm around her waist, he used the left to prop himself up.

She rested in his arms for a long while before turning her brown eyes to his. "I can't help it, Harry. These dreams, they're…"

"I know. Sssh, I know." And he did. He'd had those dreams of darkness and pain enough times, had woken up screaming often enough to know exactly how she felt at this moment.

She burrowed closer to him, and now he could feel the tears as they leaked out of her eyes and through his thin pajama top.

He held her close and kissed her hairline. At that moment, he wished more than anything that she didn't have to go through this. If he had only been more alert, paid more attention, maybe he could have stopped it—but no. He remembered her mother's boggart and her father's attack last year and knew that if Ginny didn't have nightmares about an old diary and a handsome prefect in a green and silver tie, she would only have different nightmares.

"I wish—" he began, frustrated, "Gin, if I could, I would stop all this for you, you know that right?" He kissed her forehead again, and she raised her face to his again. "I just—I can't –" His voice broke, and if he hadn't been so concerned with what he was saying, he might have been embarrassed. "I can't fix this for you. I wish I could, but I can't." He took a deep breath and blew it out in a shaky laugh. "I'm not really much of a hero."

"Harry, I—" She couldn't possibly have been surprised at what he said. She must have been thinking it, as everyone must have. What kind of a hero couldn't get rid of the villain after four run-ins?

"I want to help you, but I—I guess I can't."

"Oh, Harry." She had a new look in her eyes, one that he hadn't seen before. "You are helping."

"But I'm not doing anything. I can't—"

"You are," she repeated firmly. "And besides," she said, with the old teasing twinkle shining through the new gleam, "I don't need much of a hero. Just you."

It was not the suave, romantic response he would have liked, but he couldn't help himself. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Now are you going to kiss me, or what?"

He kissed her then, and it was like his first kiss with Cho as her tears wet his face, but it was not like any other kiss he'd ever shared with a girl. This was not something you worried about doing wrong, not something you worried about doing at all. Kissing Ginny, holding her, being with her was not something he worried about, it was just something he did. It was like flying, and he sank into the feeling of it, not worrying for once about saving the world and being famous Harry Potter.

Tonight, with her, he was just Harry.


End file.
